


He Broke His Crown

by makingitwork



Series: Bughead Prompts [13]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Swearing, Wedding, bughead - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 20:08:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15226926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makingitwork/pseuds/makingitwork
Summary: It's her wedding day.





	He Broke His Crown

**Author's Note:**

> I know you guys wanted a part 3 to Harley and Mister J and that's coming soon but for now, this is what inspiration struck! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!  
> x

It was a grey morning.

 

Jughead leaned against the window sill, staring down at New York City through his hotel window. Central Park a forest to his left, and the annals of brick and mortar of the city on his right. He wondered dimly if he should be happy, that the sky was grey. At least the wedding wouldn't be beautiful. But he dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred, fleeting and guilty he pushed it from his mind. He wanted her wedding to be happy. He wanted her to be happy, if not with him then with...

He couldn't bring himself to even think the name. 

Regardless, he thought to himself, her wedding would be beautiful, because she would be there. 

There was a clink as a white porcelain mug was set in front of him, and a warm, heavy hand landed on his shoulder. "Jughead," SweetPea said quietly, breaking the silence of the muted morning. "It's your last chance to go, if you want." 

He pulled his eyes away from the window and down to the black sludge, wisps of heat floating up towards him. With a sigh, he brought it to his lips, let it burn the surface of his tongue. "I'm not gonna go," he managed eventually, spinning around and towards the room. "I can't." His voice broke on the cee, and he closed his eyes to brace against the wave of pain that crashed around him. "I  _can't."_ He said again, taking another swig of coffee. It was Irish. Bless SweetPea. Jughead looked up at his friend, who was staring down at him with concern and protectiveness, and he looked around him to see Fangs hovering in the doorway; pitying and sad. He probably looked a picture himself. He hadn't shaved for a few days and he could feel the stubble prickling against his chin like a rash. 

"It's okay, bro," SweetPea murmured, sitting down beside him, "we won't go. We'll do something else today. The three of us can go to a Carnival or something?" 

In spite of everything, that wrangled a laugh from Jughead's throat, and he stared at his friend. "Why the hell would we go to a Carnival?" He managed, his voice startled and bizarre but over all fond. "The love of my life is getting married today,  _not to me,_ and we're going to go to a Carnival?" 

SweetPea grinned, and Fangs chuckled quietly. "Why the fuck not? Let's go to a Carnival, let's not give a fuck. Right?" He shook Jughead's shoulders enthusiastically, and Jughead smiled. "Then we can just leave, man. Straight out of here. Back home." 

The thought was so appealing it nearly hurt. Away from here, yes. That was what he wanted. His heart was breaking, maybe broken, fractured somewhere central, but SweetPea and Fangs were here, like pillars, keeping him together. He nodded, hair flopping into his forehead and he clambered to his feet; downing the rest off his coffee. When he was done, throat burnt, he threw the mug to the floor where it cracked and shattered loudly. Fangs whooped, kicking off the wall and clapping. "Alright!" He cheered "let's go!" He leapt across the room, shoes crunching onto the porcelain as he wrapped Jughead into a hug, hauling SweetPea into it. The two of them were fully dressed and the smell of their laundry detergent made Jughead smile. "It's gonna be okay. Serpents have your back forever, you know that. You're our King!" He slapped Jughead's back with considerable force, pushing him physically towards joy. 

"You're right," he grinned "okay." He took a deep breath, whirling around and picking up his shoes and coat. "Let's pack and let's get the fuck out of here. Love is  _pain._ I've got the Serpents, and I've got you guys. Let's go to a Carnival, let's eat candy, let's get pizza and drive home the long way. Let's just get the fuck out of here!" After he'd dressed himself, he began throwing his few belongings into his rucksack, leaving his tuxedo on the bed, and SweetPea and Fangs cheered him on, blasting music from their phones, enthusiastic- but afraid that if there was a moment of silence, the pain might creep back in and drag him down. "The greyest day on earth," Jughead muttered to himself, swinging his backpack over his shoulders and lacing up his converse "the greyest day in history!" He tweaked, louder. "What a fucking  _grey_ day!"

SweetPea shot Fangs a confused look, but the latter merely shrugged, bounding for the door. The neck-tattooed Serpent gave Jughead a thorough once over, eyes scanning for trouble. Their King was in pain, that much was certain, he was fraying around the edges. Parts of him were tearing and drifting into the air. He was shedding parts of himself to heal, but at his crux, his crux he would be okay. SweetPea was sure of it. He'd be okay. They'd make sure he was okay. Fangs yanked the door open; whooping, and then froze. His phone clattered from his hand onto the floor, where the music stopped playing abruptly. 

Jughead and SweetPea turned to look and both stilled.

There was Betty. 

Black mascara tear tracks on her cheeks, wedding dress on, bouquet in her hand. Her wedding dress was a white, gleaming thing, accosting the three men with its obsidian blankness. She was beautiful. She was a mess. She was a smear of colour on a grey day, and the flowers were dying in her grasp. "Jughead," she whispered, crying, blue eyes swimming in an ocean of tears and he stepped towards her; enchanted. Fangs' eyes darted between them rapidly. Every line of Jughead's body was responding to her, fixed and sure, whilst Betty was heaving, waiting; frightened. "Jughead,  _Jughead."_ The litany ended on a sob, and Jughead crossed the room in three quick steps-

but stopped before touching her. He reached out a hand, and hovered it beside her cheek, not quite touching, as if they were parted by some invisible line of separateness. She started crying anew, and Fangs could see the hot tears pricking in his King's eyes. "Betty." He whispered, agony in his tone. "What have you done?" 

There was no hope there, Fangs realised. No hope that she was back for him. 

"It was never him, Juggie," she choked, reaching a hand for him, sensing him withdrawing from her. She cupped his cheek in her hand, and it was as if she was spreading her colour. His face tinged red with her touch, and she held him tightly, gazing up at him adoringly. "It was  _never_ him. I was an idiot. It's you, it's alw-"

"You've said this before." He managed, voice impossibly hard. His jaw was locked in her hand. "It's not different now-"

"Juggie!"

"-it's not. In a week you'll want him back, like you always do." He wrought himself away from her, out of her grasp, and she wailed in anguished torment. 

"It's you," she tried again, following his step, her dress billowing against the doorframe "it's you, it's you, it's you,  _it's you-"_

"It's him!" He roared, voice thundering and making the three of them silent, tears streaming down his cheeks. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, turning away from her so she saw him framed in profile by the grey light of the day. "It's always been him-"

"No-"

"Yes." He whispered, shrugging, his smile an ugly thing on his pained face. His expression pinched and tight and his lips humourless. He lifted his arms in despair "it's  _never_ been me. Go back to him, Betty. You've already got my heart, okay? Cut into fucking pieces, strewn all over your apartment, your kitchen, your bedroom." His hands collapsed into his chest, and he was screaming now, SweetPea and Fangs watching in petrified awe. "There's nothing left! You've got  _everything!_ I'm a fucking husk!" His words became hard to understand, his distressed ache a visceral thing that twanged against roof of his mouth as he spat across the room. "Can't you just leave? Can't you just leave me here to wither and die? Can't you do that?" 

She hiccuped in pain, before throwing her bouquet at him. It hit and burst against the side of his face, spraying petals and lilies across the room. A stalk caught in his hair, but he barely flinched at the explosion. "Want me to prove it?" She whispered vehemently, hauling at her skirts. SweetPea and Fangs tried to look away but were caught with curiosity, watching with the same intensity as Jughead as Betty revealed one, long leg with a smooth white garter- higher still she rucked it, before her hip was bare, and a patch of reddened skin was visible. 

Jughead fell to his knees. His eyes fixed on the mark.

She stared with a loving, vicious triumph. "I woke up after my hen night with it, Juggie. It's  _always_ been you. I'm an idiot, I'm the worst person you've ever met, but I'm yours. I'll atone for the rest of my life, but that life has to be spent with you. Okay?"

He was still on his knees; staring.

She let her dress fall, and moved towards her, wrapping her arms around his head as he pushed his nose into her stomach. The dress was a coarse material against his face, not as smooth as he was expecting, and her fingers sifted through his hair. "I'm sorry." She whispered again "I'm sorry. I'll always be sorry. I'm sorrier than you can ever know, and it might not be sorry enough, but I'm yours." 

He nodded, voice muffled, hands curling into the satin of her gown.

 

Two hours later the four of them were in a car, SweetPea driving and Fangs beside him, the city diminishing behind them.

Betty and Jughead sat in the backseat. She was in a hawaiian shirt and and a hoola skirt from a novelty shop they'd passed on the way to the car, her makeup was smudged, and her cheeks were red, but she was smiling, nestled in Jughead's lap. His hands were wrapped around her, his face buried in her neck, holding her so tight she knew she'd bruise. She was his though, she knew. She knew that now. She always had been. And he hers. She may have his heart, but hers was beating within him. There was a lopsided crown symbol on her hip, and like their love, it would always be there.

She turned to look out of the window, and smiled.

There was colour in the horizon. 

**Author's Note:**

> YOUR COMMENTS ARE SO LOVELY AND WONDERFUL AND SO MANY OF YOU WRITE SUCH LONG ONES THAT MAKE MY ABSOLUTE DAY
> 
> the fact that you take the time to write anything, be it long or short, it's all bliss to me and your handcrafted pieces of your heart are the best things ever. I am so grateful that you wonderful people make me smile! It means the world to me and inspires me so much! You deserve the best things all of you and I love you!


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